


Hostford

by daisyisawriter91



Series: James Shefford [6]
Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Panic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 06:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19458616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisyisawriter91/pseuds/daisyisawriter91
Summary: A series of one shots centering around James Shefford and the Host.





	1. The Seeker and the Lost

James’s pen scratched soothingly against the paper, forming a story he knew unreasonably well. Perhaps he spent too much time with it, rattling around in his head.  
James glanced up at the clock, pushing up his glasses. He needed to check on the Host. _Rune_ , James reminded himself.  
He’d recently given James full permission to use his name, and James wanted to use it as often as he could. It was a learning process, but he was getting there.  
James set down his pen and stood from his chair, pausing to stretch for a moment. He’d been sitting for some time. He could hear Penelope’s scolding in his head, that hypocrite.  
He left their bedroom and headed down the spiral staircase, towards the library. That was where the Host- _Rune_ -spent most of his time. If he wasn’t there, he always left a note.  
James gently knocked on the library door before pushing it open. Rune was nowhere to be seen, paper still stuck in his typewriter. The window was wide open, despite it being December.  
James gently stepped around the desk, looking for any notes left and finding none. The paper in the typewriter ended in an unfinished sentence. If it was an artistic choice, the paper would have been taken out.  
“Rune?” James called out, peering out the window. A cold breeze hit him, sending a shiver up his spine. “Rune! Are you out there? Rune!”  
James stepped back, pulling the window closed. He told himself the jitters in his body were from the cold.  
He could be anywhere in the house, on his way to find James as he thought these things. James bit his lip and rushed out of the room.  
“Rune!” James shouted, rushing through the house. “If you’re here, answer me, dammit!” He called. Desperation was leaking into his voice.  
James searched the house, from top to bottom. Every hallway, every nook and cranny, double checked Rune’s more frequented rooms. He found them all empty. The house was utterly empty, and Rune wasn’t foolish enough to spend hours outside in the snow in only his trench coat.  
Rune was missing.  
James sat heavily in a rickety chair, heart tearing itself in two. What would he do if Rune was gone forever? Kidnapped, or worse?  
James took three steadying breaths. He wouldn’t get anywhere like this, panicked and afraid. He would stay calm, and look for Rune in town.  
With that, James stood up, determinedly. He wiped his fallen tears away and strode to get his coat. Before he left, he grabbed a picture of Rune, to see if anyone had seen him. They wouldn’t forget his face.  
If anyone had seen him to begin with.  
James shook his head, as though to rid himself of the treacherous thoughts. Rune had to be alive. James would know. Somehow, he’d know if Rune was dead.

James took off his coat, hanging it on his hook. His entire face was red, some from the cold, some from crying. At about seven, he would wager, he had a breakdown on a park bench.  
No one had seen Rune, or even had an idea who he was. And every minute without him, the trail went colder, and James lost just a bit more hope.  
He needed to refuel. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and he would make some coffee so he could keep going.  
James raked a hand through his curls, wiping his face of snow and dried tears. This was going to be a long night.  
James barely got close to the kitchen before there was a loud, resounding knock on the double doors.  
Warily, James stepped towards the door, grabbing the first weapon he could find. A fireplace poker would have to do. James took a deep breath before opening the door. In the doorway stood the last person James expected. Rune.  
He was covered in blood, his bandage dripping, fallen around his neck. His eye sockets were bleeding, the blood running down his face. His coat was equally covered in blood, though it was debatable as to whether it was his. Loosely clutched in his right hand was a baseball bat with presumably new dents in the metal.  
“Rune?” James asked, letting the poker fall to the ground.  
“James, I…” Rune trailed off. He took halted step forwards, falling gratefully into James’s arms, dropping the bat. James caught him, holding him close. He could already feel the blood soaking through his clothes, but he didn’t care.  
“God, Rune, I was so scared.” James breathed, kissing the top of Rune’s head. “So, so scared. Are you alright? Are you hurt?”  
Rune didn’t answer, simply snuggled closer, nose touching James’s neck. He clutched at James’s back, practically going limp. He was shaking.  
James held him tighter. “You don’t have to tell me what happened, I won’t pry. Just tell me if you’re hurt.”  
“A little. Not terribly.” Rune replied. James pulled away, pausing to kiss Rune’s forehead. It was slick with sweat.  
“I’m going to treat your wounds. Do you trust me with that?” James asked.  
“I trust you with my life.” Rune immediately answered. James laughed, bitterly.  
“I couldn’t even find you.” James argued.  
“You would have. I can See, don’t you remember? I could See you finding me. It could’ve taken months, even years, and you wouldn’t have given up. You’re the right person to trust, James. So, please. Help me.” Rune pleaded.  
James walked around him and shut the door before taking Rune’s hand in his own, leading him into the house they shared.  
“I’m glad you’re home.” James said. Rune smiled, tiredly.  
“As am I.”


	2. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Host attempts to find the words he wants to say. Every word counts.

The Host’s fingers hovered above the keys of the typewriter, considering. Should he have handwritten it? Would his now childlike scrawl be considered charming if it came from the heart? Would James, in all his reading comprehension, even be able to read it?  
The Host sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration. It was just words, something he claimed to be good at. He’d memorized the keys to his typewriter, just to continue telling stories in his favorite medium. Yet he couldn’t pen a single letter.  
He couldn’t seem to find the words he wanted. They were at the tip of his tongue, swimming through his hands, but they didn’t appear to be leaving anytime soon.  
James would be up in a few moments. Whether it be for food, or to check the Host’s bandages, or just to see him, James popped in on the Host every time he was secluded in their library.  
As much as the Host liked his solitude, he would never turn James away. James was the exception to every rule the Host held about himself. He allowed James to touch him, to see his scars, to hear him sing.  
Just as he anticipated, James knocked on the door before opening it, and the Host could almost see his smile.  
The Host’s Sight gave him only a vague picture of James. He knew that James was tall with curly brown hair, and the most striking eyes he’d ever seen. But from all the information the Host had gathered, through the Sight and simple touch, he knew James’s smile was a sight to behold.  
“Hello, my darling. How goes it, tonight?” James asked, soothing voice filling the still air of the library. The Host tracked his footsteps, feeling a slow warmth come over him as James neared, finally pressing a kiss to his hair. The Host couldn’t help his smile.  
“Not well, I’m afraid. What should be a simple piece is…taking more effort than I thought. I want it to work, I need it to. It just…” The Host let the words hang, trying to articulate what he felt.  
“Oh, my love, I’ve never understood a sentiment more. But you need to ask yourself something. What do you want it to say? As long as you keep that, it doesn’t matter what the end result looks like. It doesn’t have to be beautiful, sweeping prose. It just has to say what you want it to.” James replied, patiently.  
The Host turned in his seat, grabbing James’s cheek and pulling him into a kiss. Words were flying around in his head, alight with new possibilities, but he had just enough time to kiss his love.  
James returned it, smiling as he kissed. The Host always felt a swell of pride when James smiled into a kiss. He could make such an incredible man so happy that even a simple gesture of affection delighted him.  
James broke away, running his thumb over the Host’s cheekbone. “I’ll leave you to it, now. Good luck. Find me if you need anything.”  
“I will. Thank you.” The Host murmured. James’s hand left the Host’s cheek, and the Host heard him leave, quietly shutting the door.  
The Host turned back to his typewriter, words finally ready to spill onto the page.

Early morning sunlight filtered through lace curtains, reaching James’s eyes. Slowly, he peered through his lashes to find the bed empty.  
The Host hadn’t come to bed the previous night. Though he didn’t sleep, he would rest beside James, most nights. James’s heart sped up in worry, and he threw off the heavy duvet. Snatching his glasses from the bedside table, his feet slapped against cold wood. He tried not to shiver, instead hurrying to the library.  
Had the Host eaten? Did he need fresh bandages? If he wrote all night, he’d need a rest, or else his eyes would bleed. Or he would faint with fatigue.  
James walked into the library, not bothering to knock. To his great surprise, it was empty, save for a small package in front of the idle typewriter. A letter rested on top, and James stepped curiously towards it. It was addressed to him in a messy scrawl belonging to the Host.  
James picked up the letter, curiosity piqued, worry taking a backseat. The inside words were artificially created, but James knew they would be written with heart.  
 _My lilac,_  
If I had a million years, I could sing you the perfect love song. I could pen the perfect poem, paint the perfect picture, give the perfect gift. If I had a million years, I could find the perfect words to describe how wonderful you are. If I had a million years, I could fully express how much I care for you.  
As I don’t have that much time, I will simply make do with what I currently have. The best words I can conjure up as I type.  
When you entered my life, you were a beacon of light and hope. My heart matched my body in scar tissue, but you came along and cleared the cobwebs, finding something to love within the wreckage. You were the first person to ever even try.  
Some part of me believes I had to be broken beyond belief to be worthy of you. The man I used to be disgusts me, wholly and entirely. I’ve distanced myself so far from him that I could never return. And that is for the better. You wouldn’t love that man.  
Though I may never understand how you could love me, I’ve never doubted for a second that you do. The tenderness in every act, the sentiment in every word, I know you feel just as I feel for you.  
Which is why there are no more words left to say. I live and breathe words, but for once in my life, I don’t need them. How I feel for you doesn’t need words.  
I only ask you say one more word in return.  
James’s eyes stung, tears forming in their corners. He had a sneaking suspicion of what would be in the box. He didn’t dare to believe it.  
James took off the top of the package to reveal a small ring, inlaid with pale green stones. He was guessing it was just his size.  
The Host wanted to marry him. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with James. The mere concept was simply overwhelming.  
But in the end, there was only one option that made any sense.  
James slipped on the ring, and took off running. He had to give his answer.


End file.
